Simply Charming
by Hiron Otsuki
Summary: Charming lost it all: his mother, his intended, and his chance to become King. Doris, long alone, sees her chance. There are two paths a tale can take: to a happy ending for two people that one was never intended for, or to unrequited love and heartbreak.
1. Lost It All

This is the side story to One Week, detailing how Charming and Doris got together before they went to Narnia. You don't have to read One Week to understand this, but both of these and One Week's sequel, (unreleased) are in the same universe, and I have no qualms about pluggage, so please go read One Week if you get the chance.

Originally I was going to do a sequel to One Week. Then I looked at the reviews, and decided, "Now that's really... um..." I'd be lying if I said I decided anything. In reality, my eyes fell upon Zepplin's review and focused on the "Charming/Doris fic" comment, and thus I decided to do a shortish fic about that couple. (Of course, 'shortish' is what I was thinking in the beginning of One Week. . .) And that couple _does_ need more love. I'm not going to hide it. This fic is about them.

I did get a lot of people asking for a Charming/Doris fic, and I feel that they need a gift. And it'll give me more insight into the Connected Worlds and stuff, so that'll help with the sequel to One Week.

Please keep in mind that this is AU after Shrek 2.

And enough with the rambling. Enjoy the show, everyone!

* * *

And in my twisted face  
There's not the slightest trace  
Of anything that even hints of kindness  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter One: Lost It All**

Charming Fortuna watched as the bubbles that had been his mother floated down to the pavement and died in little explosions of soapy water. Her glasses fell with a tinkle next to them, and her wand clattered to the ground, the light in its star already dying.

He stared at the damp pavement and the cloven hooves of the pig that stepped on the wand, snapping it in two. Hesitantly, he reached out and picked up the spectacles– all he had left of his mother.

He put them in his breast pocket, threw Fiona's rose to the ground, and prepared to walk away with some dignity left until he could get back to the hotel room to mourn his mother in private.

His plans went to the gutter, however, when a–well, it _looked _like a woman in a purple dress grabbed him with a deep-voiced, "'Ey, gorgeous," and ran a finger down his cheek. She pushed him backward onto the stone floor and tried to kiss him as they fell, but he wormed out of her grip and landed on his rear next to her in the midst of dancing courtiers and fairytale creatures. She grabbed for him again, but he writhed away and managed to force a wolf in a nightgown to dance between them, giving Charming some space to rise to his feet. As soon as he regained them–and his balance, he shoved his way through the crowd into a gaggle of dancing pigs, who immediately shoved him out of their circle, where he came face-to-face with Fiona. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, but the frog that had been King Harold was dangling by his front legs from her hands. It spitted Charming with a glare, and Fiona stared at him with something he wasn't used to being on the receiving–or even the giving end of–pity.

"Charming," she said in that lovely voice now laced with sadness. "Get out of here. Please. Just go."

He remembered the feel of his lips on hers–then considered the crack of her forehead on his that had come immediately after. He nodded, too miserable to speak. He'd lost his mother, a chance at being a King, and the woman he thought he loved, all in one night.

Moving slowly to the rhythm of the music that an orange tabby and a mule were singing on stage and trying not to attract any attention to himself, he made his way toward the stairs at the back of the courtyard. When he reached the foot, he paused for a second, then dashed up them as fast as he could, and reached the sanctuary of the hall within seconds, where he was confronted by a confusing sight. Multiple guards were heaped together, unconscious or dead in the middle of the halls he walked through. He didn't stop to check to see if they were alright; knowing the nature of fairytale creatures, when they had taken the castle they would have only knocked out or incapacitated the guards, not killed them. The cat with the sword was another matter, but when one of the guards groaned and rolled over as Charming passed, he figured they were all still alive.

He walked over the now-down drawbridge and stopped for a moment to stare down at the moat, contemplating drowning himself. No; he was too pretty for that; drowning made your face turn purple and bloated, and drowning oneself was near impossible. And he didn't want to die just yet; he could always find another kingdom with another princess; Snow White was a possibility. . . .

He didn't want to deal with the dwarves, though. They would squeal and giggle, and even if he did manage to wake up Snow White, she had to get rid of that apple stuck in her throat. He didn't want it to be on him, after all.

No, Snow White wasn't a good idea. If he went back to Mummy's factory, surely there would be potions there that could help him.

A floating castle. No, not a floating castle. A floating tower that was grounded in a dark gray cloud that occasionally lit up with bright pink lightning. The old Keebler place with the attached cottage that his mother had chased the elves out of and claimed as her factory was gone, and in its place was trees. Lots and lots of trees.

After riding for what seemed like hours on an empty stomach and an aching heart, he found his mother's factory gone, and this. . . _thing_ in it's place. He had to know where it came from, and what happened to his mother's factory. After cautious searching, he found a rope ladder seemingly made of silver hair that was tied to the ground and led up into the cloud. He dismounted, tied his white stallion to a tree next to a blackberry bush, and strode determinedly toward the ladder. He reached it and gripped it firmly in both hands, tugging to make sure it was tied at the top. After several hard yanks, he was satisfied that it wasn't going to come loose while he was on it, and began climbing the silken ladder. When he had climbed high enough to be over the treetops, he looked around, half-hoping that he'd simply missed the turning for the factory, only to find that there was forest all around as far as he could see. There was the main road through the forest, and the Poison Apple, but that was about it. Far Far Away could be seen in the distance; only a toy-sized castle next to a barely discernible sign captioning the name, and nothing else. No factory, not even the cottage.

Charming turned his head away from the empty landscape and continued climbing. He didn't even hesitate when he reached the gray cloud; just kept climbing–not into fluffy warmth, like he had always imagined clouds to be–but into cold darkness. Cold _wet _darkness, complete with the slight feeling of a constant drizzle on his face.

This was certainly not what clouds were supposed to be! Clouds were fluffy, and white, and you could sit on them! This tower thing was resting on a cloud, but the only other times that Charming had encountered clouds, he'd been in Mummy's carriage.

He gritted his teeth against the cold and the wet, and kept placing hand over hand and pulling himself up the now-slick ladder. After several near hits with the unnatural pink lightning, he banged the crown of his head against something solid. Muffling a curse, he twisted the ladder around his left arm and reached up with his right to discover what felt like a trapdoor. He fumbled around in the dark with his fingers, hoping to find the handle or some other way to open it. His fingertips brushed against what felt like a stylized glyph of some sort, and he pressed at it. Suddenly the door gave way and lifted away above him, giving him a glimpse of a white tiled room with what looked like a bathtub in one corner before he heard a feminine shriek, and a sudden wind whipped up from beneath him, throwing him high into the air and through another trapdoor in the ceiling, which gave him another chance to get a glance at a woman in the bubble-filled bathtub, who was frantically trying to cover herself before he was whisked away into a room full of bookshelves replete with books like _Moby Dick_, _Les Miserables_, and _The Disappearance of Pegeen_,and odd knick-knacks.

He took a seat in one of the comfortable looking wing chairs to wait to meet the owner of the tower. Unfortunately he had a nasty sinking feeling that the owner was that woman he had passed on his way up–the woman in the bathtub.

That did nothing for his mood, and before he knew it, he was sniffling and trying to hold back tears for his mother. He pulled her glasses out of his front pocket and held them in his fingers, staring at the only physical remnant of Dama Fortuna other than bubbles and pieces of a broken wand.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth as the tears slipped down his cheeks. He managed to hold back the sobs, but the tears fell unchecked. When a door slammed open somewhere to his right, he didn't look up, so lost was he in his mourning.

"Do you know the meaning of _knocking_?" a girl's voice screamed. "Not only do I have to interrupt a bubble bath to see a client, the aforementioned client sees me _in_ said bubble bath! Why I even bothered taking– oh. Oh, dear. I've gone and made you cry, haven't I, lad?" Without any further yelling, a tissue was pressed into his hand, and he took it gratefully, hastily wiping the snot from his nose and the tears and gunk from his eyes.

"Oh. Oh, my," the voice said. "Oh, this is unexpected. Prince Charming Fortuna."

He looked up to find the source of the person who apparently knew him staring at him through eyes that looked like the bottoms of spoons. They were completely silver except for slit pupils in the centers.

His eyes immediately _wanted _to look away from those deviant eyes, and somehow his gaze traveled upward to the–cat ears? This woman had black cat ears? He hastily checked for normal, human ears, but couldn't see any ears, but that could have been because of the abundant orange hair that _foof_ed around her head.

He looked at the ears again, only to find that they were _pierced_. _Six times_.

_My god,_ he thought. _I must be dreaming_.

"Sorry to have made you cry, Charming. I suppose you're wondering where your mother is, hmm?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

The girl frowned, causing a small canine to slip over her lower lip. "I really don't know. I just graduated from Godmother school, and this is my first assignment. Admin just sort of gives you a place to go, and you tell them what you want your home and office to look like, and then you wind up there. I really can't tell you anything, but you can send a complaint form to the IFAGA. They take months to get through everything, though. Sorry to say this, but your mom's as good as gone."

"Oh." His voice was very small, and he didn't really know what to say. He toyed with the glasses in his hands, relieved to have found _someone _who knew something about what was going on.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Sorry to have screamed at you," the new Godmother said. "I was just startled. I wasn't really expecting anyone tonight; you should still have been at the Ball, and you also should have used the elevator. Did you take the hair ladder?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Ah. For future reference, the elevator is in the clearing just off the main road. It's not really an elevator–that just makes it easier to remember. It's just a Portal that–"

And she was off, rambling like there was no tomorrow. Ever the pervert, he glanced down to find out if she was naked or wearing a towel, only to see that she was wearing some sort of odd black and white uniform, with a short black pleated skirt, an orange sailor top with a red bow, and white stockings withshort orange boots. She was so different from his mother! While Mummy had been all mother and mostly manipulative, conniving and ever the businesswoman, this girl was seemingly innocent, wise, and helpful. And her _clothing_! Quite an odd outfit, on the whole, he thought, barely noticing the shapely legs and trim waist. She caught him looking and lightly slapped him on the side of his head.

"Bad Charming. You can stay for the night, but don't think you get anything more than that."

It was then that he realized how tired he was. His head ached from when Fiona had headbutted him, and he ached all over. He thought he might be catching a cold, too, when he sneezed and–

"You're not sick," the Godmother said. "Just tired. And you've been coddled all your life. Go to bed and get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning. This fae light will show you the way."

She flicked her fingers and a light shot away from her hand. It twinkled purple and orange–a revolting combination, he thought–and floated toward a previously unnoticed door in the wall. He looked back over his shoulder as she turned–or rather floated–away, revealing a naked back adorned with real butterfly wings patterned with seemingly random black and red and purple splotches. He'd almost lost the fae light when he managed to tear his eyes away from the sight of the sensuous Godmother, and hurried after it.

The light led him to a plain wooden door, marked with the rune _jera_¸ which meant 'fool.'

"Ha," he muttered, opened the door, and went inside, leaving the light in the hallway.

There was a bed in the far corner– he stumbled toward it and fell into the soft warmth of a featherbed. He didn't even remember someone relieving him of his boots and jerkin before he fell asleep.


	2. That's How They Get Ya

Do you know how hard this is tobash out on keyoad that only works half the time? This is what this chaptr would look like if wasn taing at the screen every five seconds to spot the ystroks hat dnt reach the machine.

And now, the edited version of that lovely little speech.

Do you know how hard this is to bash out on a keyboard that only works half the time? This is what this chapter would look like if I wasn't staring at the screen every five seconds to spot the keystrokes that don't reach the machine.  
And I type out _every single keystroke. _

TrudiRose: I actually read your story a few days before I posted this, and I loved it. I'm going to go review it now. (When I read it, the pop-up blocker on this machine was blocking everything, including e-mails.)

Zepplin: That's what happens when you try to steal someone else's princess. XD

Moonjava: Thanks.

Shored: I'm still of the opinion that Doris is a transvestite, although Dreamworks won't acknowledge that. . .

I'm glad you guys liked this.  
Points to whoever spots the various fairytale characters in this chapter.

* * *

And from my tortured shape  
No comfort, no escape  
I see, but deep within is utter blindness  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Two: That's How They Get Ya**

The next day, Charming went back to Far Far Away to return to his hotel and ponder what he would do next.

Unfortunately, he was met by a large pile of baggage at the curb, in which he could spot his own distinctive gold and white bags, and a small crowd of angry fairytale creatures.

Naturally, he went inside to find the idiot who would dare throw Prince Charming's things out onto the sidewalk.

Charming glowered at the smirking bellhop that stood in front of him.

"You did _what_?" he hissed, and glared at the woman again.

"You failed to pay for last night's stay, so we removed your items from your room and placed them on the curb, sir," the unfazed bellhop said.

"We paid for a week's stay!" Charming blustered.

"No, you _scheduled_ a week's stay and _paid_ every day. Since Dama Fortuna was a Fairy Godmother, and also included in the NAMBLA committee, she was allowed to stay. However, when she was reported deceased, all payment to the hotel stopped, thus your things were removed."

"But–but–"

"You aren't the only one being ejected from your room, sir. You might try to find lodgings in The Blue LightTavern. That's where several other ejected patrons are going."

Charming narrowed his eyes. "I meant why, exactly am _I_ being removed for not paying a night's stay? I'm her _son!_"

"Are you a NAMBLA member?"

"What is NAMBLA?" Charming shouted. "I've never heard of it before in my life!"

The bellhop looked slightly amused. "You don't know? The Northern Annual Masked Ball Association. And they're coming here tomorrow."

The knight frowned. "NAMBLA?"

"Correct. They plan the annual Masked Ball in all the Kingdoms from Far Far Away to Tyme Ago. And they need the hotel. Every single room that hasn't been paid for in advance."

"But–"

"Every. Single. Room."

§

Charming huffed and pulled his bundle of bags another few feet along the sidewalk.

"Stupid bint," he muttered into the rapidly darkening twilight. "How was I to know that once someone's been reported dead then all debts or services owed them are cancelled?"

Every five-star hotel was completely booked, and had been for some weeks in advance. The Enchanted Glen, the Sphinx. . . all o them. He lugged the bags past a Versachery and around the corner of an Old Knavery and sighed with relief when he spotted a wooden sign with the large blue sparkle in the middle above a caption reading, 'Tavern.'

Now that he was so close, he found a little more strength and pulled his bags a little faster toward the tavern entrance. Once he was in front of the doorway, he hoisted the lightest bags onto his poor, maltreated back and dragged the last (and heaviest) two bags behind him as he stepped across the threshold.

Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the somewhat dimmer light inside the tavern, he began to discern what–when his vision adapted–promised to be a very strange sight. Round tables dotted the room, and a stage that he couldn't _quite _see the occupants of sat in the far right corner. About half the tables were filled with random creatures–both human and not–and were being waited upon by an all-fairy staff. He ducked as a half-dozen of the creatures flew overhead, laboring under the weight of a tray laden with foaming beers. His eyes followed them to a table of seven goats sitting at a table, gesturing over what looked like the pelt of a wolf, and there was a pile of large, dirty stones next to the table.

He squinted at the other side of the room, ignoring the cries of the fairies as one outstretched hoof overturned their tray, sending the drinks and their tray clattering to the ground. Charming wrinkled his nose as the smell of cheap beer wafted in his direction, and he stepped to one side as an unmanned mop sped past him towards the spilled beer and shouting goats. Frowning, the former Prince made his way along the wall toward what looked like a service desk on the left side of the room.

When he reached the counter, however, there was no one to be seen. Annoyed, he banged his hand down on the service bell. It _ding_ed, and a heap behind the counter that he'd taken for a pile of cleaning rags bestirred itself and rose, proving to be a filthy old hobgoblin that was missing an eye.

Normally that would have caused Charming to flinch–not for the missing organ, but for the smell–but since Mummy had been doing business in The Poison Apple, his sense of smell had grown accustomed to the stench of unwashed body and some of the more exotic smells that would occasionally emanate from certain fairytale creatures.

The old thing raised its single eyebrow at him and grunted. "Whatchoo want?" it asked in a croaking sort of voice.

"I want your best room," Charming said in his far more cultured accent.

"'Eh. 'Ow long?"

"Three days. And if I stay longer than that, I promise I will pay you on time," he assured the hobgoblin.

It asked him, "You one o' 'em as from As-lan's Howe?"

"No, I'm from The Golden Bird," Charming told it, assuming it was asking about his former hotel.

"Nay, fool," it said. "You one o' 'em dis-_placed_ things from As-lan's Howe, yonder in Narn-ya?"

"Narnya?" Charming asked, nonplussed.

One of the fairies whizzing by overhead screamed down, "It's _Narnia_, you old fool!" before continuing on it's way to the kitchens.

"Ah, can I just get a room, please?" Charming said to the creature.

"Yah. 'At'll be twenny coppers."

"Er. . ." he began uncertainly."The smallest I have is a Crown. Do you have change for that?" he asked, looking around at the dingy room pointedly. In truth, all he had was Crowns, and not many of them.

"No. Give me th' Crown," it rasped, glaring at him.

"But. . ." he fingered his beltpouch uncertainly. A Crown for three days in this place?

"You wan' a room or not? Can always share with someone," it grinned nastily, and Charming remembered that _woman _from the Ball. Hastily he dug a Crown out of his pouch and slammed the gold coin down in front of the hobgoblin's long nose.

"Here."

In a half-second, it was gone, and one of the creature's grubby hands was fumbling with a pocket.

It slid a small copper key across the desk. "Room nine," it grunted, and pointed to a door at the end of the counter. "Down that 'allway and i'll be th' fifth door on your lef'."

"Thanks," Charming said disdainfully, picking up the key. He hauled his bags to the door and down the short hallway, stopping at the fifth (and last) door on the left. Preparing for the worst, he fitted the key into the lock and opened the door onto a room he hadn't expected.

There was a small bed pushed into the far right corner, and a small table in the corner across from it. What looked like a washroom door was off to his immediate left, and there was a tiny window in the center of the far wall. The walls themselves were painted a dingy yellow, and a vase of dying flowers was situated on the end table next to the head of the bed. Charming shoved his bags into the room, locked the door, and went back out into the common room.

He chose a small table far from the stage, next to a table occupied by an old woman, an old man wearing a fisherman's hat, and a flounder in a large round fishbowl. Charming pushed his chair up against the wall and automatically fixed his sword so it wasn't jabbing him in the side or caught under him. One hand raised to summon a waiter, he began trying to make out the strange shapes on the stage across the room. He didn't have to wait long–both for the waiter and to find out what was performing–because when the lights went up on stage, there was a high-pitched voice at his ear. "Take your order?" He had to resist the urge to slap at it, and instead answered the question.

"I'll have a bottle of your finest wine and a light dinner of veal," he said, pathetically hoping that this establishment had _some_ form of wine and knew how to cook veal.

They didn't.

"Sorry, sir. No veal, but we do have some Don Perigjaun," it said, taking his attention off of the blindingly bright stage.

Ooh. "I'll take that and whatever tonight's meal is," he said reluctantly.

"Right away, sir," it said, and flew away.

Charming turned his attention back to the stage and wasn't disappointed with the sight. In the middle of it an Ass, a Cat, a Hound, and a Cock. At a cue from the Ass, they all began performing what was apparently supposed to be music. The Ass brayed and pawed at a lute sitting in a stand on the floor, and the Hound barked and beat a kettle-drum with its paws. The Cat yowled at the people watching them, and the Cock crowed with all its might.

The music was so horrible that Charming clapped his hands to his ears, barely missing the fairy that was passing by to the next table.

Mercifully, after a few minutes the howling of the crowd had grown so loud that the animals were finally drowned out, took the point, and fled the stage. After that, the old hobgoblin grabbed a passing fairy, which flew into the hallway where Charming's room was. Not two minutes had passed before it came out, leading eleven richly-dressed women who gallivanted up onto the platform and began stomping on the stage, clapping, and singing.

Intrigued by the thought that the women might be princesses, Charming grabbed the nearest fairy.

"Who are those women?" he asked it as it struggled to hold onto the mug of ale it had been carrying.

"The–the Twelve Dancing Princess, sir!" it gasped out, losing its hold on the handle.

"There's only eleven," he said, deftly catching the mug and placing it onto his table but cupping his free hand about it so that another fairy couldn't finish the first one's job. "Where's the twelfth?"

"Huddled in her room because she's convinced someone's been following them," the fairy informed him. "The others have told me she's paranoid."

"Ah. Are they really princesses?"

"No. Just an acting troupe that takes the name of the real twelve princesses over in Tyme Ago," it said.

_Twelve _princesses in Tyme Ago? Why hadn't he heard of them before? "Are they . . . ah, available?" he asked the fairy urgently.

"No. One was taken by the Soldier who solved the mystery of why their shoes were danced to pieces, and the others vanished, supposedly taken by Princes they had rescued by dancing with them. You're out of luck," the fairy said. "Now give me back my mug."

With that said, it snatched the mug out of Charming's limp hands and flew it over to the table with the man, the woman, and the fish. Charming stared at the group sullenly, wondering why it was that every time he'd gotten some bit of hope, a fairytale creature had to dash it to pieces.

Then the woman's clothing went from being rags to very rich, and he really focused on the little group and what they were saying.

"I want to be a king," the woman whined at the flounder. The fish rolled its eyes, and Charming hadn't even blinked before the woman was dressed in purple robes and had a crown on her head. She glared at the fish. "I want to be an Emperor," she said stubbornly. Again, before Charming could blink, she was wearing a great golden crown, and had a scepter in one hand and an orb in the other. She smiled for a moment, and gripped the orb firmly. "I want to be Pope." Now she was dressed in gold, with three golden crowns upon her head. "I want to be. . . Lord of the Universe," she announced triumphantly. The old man sighed, and then the woman was dressed in peasant's clothing, looking haggard. She closed her eyes for half a minute, then opened them. "I want to be a King."

"Here we go again," sighed the old man. Then he noticed Charming watching them.

"My wife has amnesia," he said dolefully. "She can't remember anything past a thirty-second period, and the fish doesn't really care what happens, just so long as it gets to see the world."

Charming looked at him blank-faced, and the man elaborated. "It's an enchanted prince. I wish I'd never caught the thing," he said before turning back to his beer.

"Ah," Charming said awkwardly. "Well, best of luck to you."

"Eyah." Came from the turned back of the man.

Later, when the "Princesses" had finished entertaining the crowd, and Charming had eaten the horrible food and drunk what was most definitely _not _Don Perigjuan, he headed back to his room. When he passed the service desk, however, the hobgoblin snatched out a hand and grabbed Charming's wrist.

"I had a dreeeeam," it hissed at him. "A dream in 'at you married a Ugly Stepsister named Doris wif a mole on her face, an' she was wearin' a purple dress!"

Horrified that he was talking about that woman from the ball, Charming glanced around and tried to pull away. "Where–when?" he gasped out, hoping to prevent the tragedy of a Prince marrying a woman like that.

"Dunno. That's how they trick ya," the one-eyed thing muttered.

Charming finally succeeded in getting out of the hobgoblin's grip and ran to his room, hastily locking it behind him and checking under the bed for any transient purple-clad women.

Upon finding none, he pulled his bags further into the room and piled them around the bed, creating an illusion of safety. Then he curled up under the tatty quilt, fully clothed, and sucked his thumb while he waited for tomorrow.

That didn't stop him from having dreams haunted by rouged lips, bemoled faces, and ample purple-dressed figures.

* * *

Well, that didn't turn out too badly. We'll meet Doris soon, I promise. 


	3. Love a Lost Illusion

Something occurred to me while I was replying to the reviews: No one has flamed this. (yet.) As a matter of fact, this pairing seems somewhat popular in this section. I can only assume that this is because of the fact that Doris has a female name, looks somewhat female, has long hair, and wears a dress. This does not say much for the intelligence of the flamers. For all we know, Doris could have male genitalia beneath that purple dress, and her breasts could have been Godmother-generated.

Just a thought.

TrudiRose: I was aiming for a NAMBLA joke there. . . I should've mentioned this in an author note at the end of the chapter, but it was really Northern Annual Masked BalL Association. I just didn't know how to communicate the fact that one of the 'L's was capitalized without looking like one of those people who capitalizes every other letter. Yes, I know about NAMBLA. I first heard about it on South Park, (which is where I learn about most things that are going on in the world. Sad, really.) and then did some investigating to see if they were BSing. Sadly, they weren't. And sadly, a lot of fics on fanfiction dot net qualify for NAMBLA. And I'm curious: Is there a NAWGLA?

Also thanks to Moonjava and FreddyPussGal.

Notes: From this point on, I'm going to refer to Doris as a 'she' to make things easier for everyone. And I wrote it to the older Now That's What I Call Music! CDs, if that makes any difference.

* * *

Hopeless  
As my dream dies  
As the time flies  
Love a lost illusion  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Three: Love a Lost Illusion**

Doris stared helplessly at Charming's retreating back as he ran up the stairs. She was too far back in the crowd to catch him, and even if she could, she didn't know what she would do. Grabbing him and kissing the hell out of him didn't seem to be an option; he would just slither out. Where could he possibly be going, though? His mother was–oh, that's right. His mother was dead. Poor boy.

She turned back to the music and began dancing with an amused and vindicated-looking Prince Shrek.

"You couldn' catch him?" asked Fiona's husband.

Doris shook her head sadly. "No. I will, though. You know where he might've gone?" She asked the ogre hopefully.

"No idea. If you're lucky, he might show up at that place you work, righ'?"

"Maybe. He only came if his mother was there, though."

"He'll show up again, uh, Miss," Shrek said consolingly.

"I hope so."

§

She trudged through the wet streets gloomily, head down and hood up. It had been three days since the ball, and she'd seen neither flawless hide nor golden hair of Prince Charming. She was beginning to think that she was never going to find her Prince, and she had work in the morning. She'd searched all of the grander hotels of the city on her time off, and couldn't find any trace of him. NAMBLA was well on its way, and she'd never find him in _that _crush. It was raining, now, in Far Far Away, matching her current mood. She couldn't give up, though. He had to surface some time, and when he did. . .

She had a sudden, wonderful vision of herself being swept off her feet by a certain golden-haired knight, and riding away with him into the sunset.

Suddenly her attention was caught by a gaggle of girls fighting for turns to peek in through a hole in the wood siding of a tavern on the other side of the street. Curious, she crossed the rapidly flooding street, carefully avoiding the deeper puddles where the cobblestones were missing, and bypassed the girls entirely in favor of the tavern's door, which was bound to be a lot drier than the scanty overhang that the girls were huddled under. She paused at the entrance and looked up at the wooden sign.

_The Blue Light Tavern._

Without bothering to push back the hood of her cloak, she shrugged and pushed open the door to reveal a nearly entirely female patronage of the large tavern. The few males in the room were all at tables in a single corner, and the rest of the tables were occupied by women. The lone woman on the small stage was dancing in iron slippers and wincing every time she stepped down, but she was not the cause of the filled room. A single table in the far corner was the focus of all the female attention in the room, and he didn't look as if her were happy about it. Prince Charming himself sat in the table in the corner, looking like a cornered rabbit. He kept glancing around nervously at the girls (who would occasionally swoon if his gaze passed over them) and then his gaze lit upon Doris. He reached out a hand and beckoned her over, causing nearly all of the attention in the room to switch to her. Keeping her hood up, she crossed the room in long strides and reached his table in a few moments, wondering why he wanted her to come to him if he had run away from her at the Ball. Rising hope let her think that maybe he wanted to apologize for running at the ball, and then they would ride off into the sunset together.

The second she reached him, however, everything became clear.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him. "Good, you're here."

Confused, she adjusted herself in the seat and made to pull down the hood of her cloak. His hand on her wrist stopped her. "Don't. Mysteriousness will make them keep their distance, and that's your job. What is your fee?"

_Oh_. He thought she was a bodyguard. Content to let the ruse stand, she pulled herself closer to the table and folded her arms across her chest. Unsure of what pose looked most menacing, she settled for folding her arms across her chest and pulling the hood forward.

He repeated the question about her fee, and instead of answering, which could give her identity away, she used the opportunity to reach under the table, skim across his thigh and grab his beltpouch. She swiftly untied it with one hand and dropped it on the table, counting out an amount equal to her highest tip, which she figured was enough to pay for a bodyguard. When she looked back up at him, he looked surprised.

"That's not a lot," he said slowly. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, and relief suffused his face. Then she turned her attention back to the watching girls. During their little altercation, one young woman had apparently got up the courage to approach the table.

"Um, sir?" she asked shyly. "Would you happen to be Prince Charming?"

Charming nodded hesitantly, and her thin face blossomed into a smile. "Well, sir, I'm the President of the Prince Charming fan—"

When Charming's face drained of color and turned a deathly shade of gray, Doris abruptly stood up and interposed herself between the girl and Charming. Without saying anything, she glared down at the girl, menace written in every line of her cloaked body, and pointed at the door, making her message clear. The apparently timid girl suddenly grew a backbone and stepped up to face the trial-by-Stepsister.

"And who would _you _be?" she asked boldly, trying to see up past the shadows in Doris's hood, challenge clear in her baby blue eyes.

Unable to figure out any way of telling the girl off without giving away her identity, Doris leaned her head down so that the extra length of the hood draped around the girl's head, effectively blinding her, and the sides of the hood reached her thin shoulders.

Doris leaned in to the girl's ear and whispered raggedly, "I'm his bodyguard, and if you don't watch yourself, I may be guarding **_your_**_ body_ instead." She breathed heavily into the girl's ear, and the tip of her tongue just touched the earlobe.

With a startled shriek, the girl leapt back out of the concealing hood and dashed to the door, casting back only a single terrified glance before running into the rain.

Without looking at the rest of the room, Doris sat back down, catching Charming's astonished glance and the appraising glares of the rest of the room.

"That was impressive," he whispered to her after he'd taken a long draught of his wine. "How did you—" Still playing the part, she cut him off with a fierce glance that he obviously felt even through the muffling fabric of the hood. She wished that she could have silenced him off with a kiss, but that was not an option at the moment.

A burly man briefly appeared at the door, stared at Charming and Doris for a moment, then shrugged and left. Doris could only assume that he was the bodyguard who Charming had originally hired.

After an hour and no more encounters, the stage was empty–the woman on stage had joined the throngs at the table–and the estrogen-charged air in the room seemed to be growing thick. Apparently the message had circulated that this was indeed the teenage idol Prince Charming. Charming stood up. "I can't take any more of this," he muttered. "Even that room is better than this."

He gestured haughtily at Doris. "Come on."

They stood up and started moving along the wall to a hallway leading away from the room. A small group of girls hesitantly moved to block their exit, but Doris ruthlessly pushed her way through, dragging Charming in her wake. They turned the corner and dashed down the hallway. When they reached the end, they stopped, and Doris turned around to see a score of large girls creeping down the hallway like a pack of jackals circling in for the kill. Small, easily intimidatable girls Doris could handle, but multiple girls that were larger than both her and Charming were another story. Charming was hastily fumbling at his belt for a key, but couldn't seem to get it off his belt. Doris made a 'hurry up' motion with her hand, and he finally got it and unlocked the door. He opened it and dragged her inside behind him, locking the door firmly and pushing the draw bar into place. Heavy pounding ensued on the door, but stopped after a few minutes as Charming and Doris held their breaths on the other side of a pile of baggage and furniture that served as an ineffective secondary wall of defense. When it had been silent for more than a minute, Charming sighed and slumped down onto the bed, giving a pointed look at Doris.

She took the hint and sat down with her back against the wall, nervously adjusting her hood. Charming was going to find out and kick her out; she just knew it. He stared at her from his position on the bed.

"You can take the cloak off, now," he said.

Doris shook her head.

"I'm ordering you to take your hood off," he commanded.

Taking a risk, Doris lowered her voice and tried to make her accent go away. "You won't like what you see," she warned him.

"I–are you wearing purple?" he asked suddenly.

Doris shook her head. She was wearing a dark blue dress that was the same pattern as the purple, only made of suede, not velvet.

Charming sounded relieved. "Good. Leave it on, then. Let me tell you; the other night I was simply _attacked _by this woman wearing a purple dress! She was kind of pretty–oh, not as pretty as _me_, of course! More handsome than anything–but she just _pounced _on me and tried to kiss me!" While Doris rejoiced at this admission, Charming made a noise of disgust and flipped his hair around. "I can understand that I'm very good looking, and a _lot _of women want to go out with me, however, _I_ only court Princesses." He looked so smug that Doris wanted to smack him and then kiss him, but she only said, "Oh."

"Oh? Is that all you can say?" Charming asked incredulously. "I was almost a King! I would have been, except Fiona chose an _ogre_ over me. An ogre. Can you believe that?"

Doris settled for a shrug. Prince Shrek had seemed pretty nice to her, both when he was in her bar and when she'd run into him at the Ball. Charming was not at all like she had thought him to be. He seemed like he was rude, careless, and very conceited. What if she had fallen in love with an image. . . . When she had served him at the Poison Apple, though, he had been polite, and had flashed that grin that made her want to swoon. . . .

"Good," he said again.

"How long do you plan on keeping me?" Doris asked, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, a few days," Charming remarked absently. "Maybe after that, but certainly until I leave town to find a Princess. You wouldn't happen to know where I can find one, would you?"

Doris shook her head, then paused. There was always her pen-pal, Lucy. . . Lucy might not be a Princess, but she was certainly a Queen. And so young–certainly Charming's tastes didn't run to the barely nubile age.

"Across the ocean, there is a Queen," Doris offered hesitantly.

Charming perked up. "Queen?"

"A Queen of Narnia. . . ."

He sighed. "What is this 'Narnia' thing? The barman mentioned it, but what _is_ it?"

"A country across the ocean. My penpal told me all about it."

He remarked scornfully, "and I supposed your penpal is this Queen Lucy?"

"Yes."

"How old is she?"

Doris admitted that she didn't know; her contact with Lucy had only gone so far as to the Queen asking about the world that something she would only refer to as 'Aslan's country' was apparently a part of. She'd sent out a missive asking for knowledge and had found a perfectly willing pen friend in Doris.

"She rules when the High King is away, though," Doris said. "He goes to Archenland, sometimes. . . ."

Suddenly Charming looked interested. "Does Archenland have Princesses?"

"I suppose so," Doris admitted with that nasty sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that usually happens when you just _know _something is going to go wrong.

He flashed a brightly charming grin onto her. "Then let's go find me a Princess!"


	4. Unforgiven

TrudiRose: Yep; they're going to Narnia. She's not wearing purple; she's wearing a dark blue suede dress. And as for the whole NAMBLA dispute, I'm going to let that one rest. I couldn't really think of an "L" word, so . . . blah.

I forgot to answer this next one last chapter, sorry. I'm answering it here for other people who had this question.

The wolf's pelt and the goats came from a fairy tale called _The Wolf and the Seven Kids_. Basically there's a Nanny-goat who has seven Kids, and then she runs off for a bit, warning them to beware of a Wolf. Of course the aforementioned wolf comes by and tries to get them to open the door. They know by his voice and black paws (one of which was on the windowsill) that it was the Wolf, so they won't open the door. So the Wolf goes to a Baker and gets the guy to put some dough and flour on his foot, and then he goes back and gets them to open the door. The Kids scatter, and the youngest one hides in the clock-case. (Why goats would have a clock-case I have no idea) The Wolf eats all the Kids whole except the one in the case, then goes outside and falls asleep. The Nanny-goat comes home to find everything pretty much busted up, and she finds the Kid in the clock-case. She lets him out and they weep, then go outside to find the Wolf. They see movements from within his distended body, and figure the Kids are still alive. So the Nanny-goat cuts a hole in the Wolf's side, takes her kids out, and they fill the Wolf up with rocks. (Random thought: _Anyone ever played that psychology game where your friends try to make you feel heavy by making you imagine that they've cut you open and filled you up with rocks?_) So when he wakes up, he gets thirsty and goes to drink at a spring. He's so heavy that he falls into the spring and drowns.

Also, thank you to Moonjava, The Blimp Alchemist, and Mandy of the Amoeba.

Notes: There is a favorite fairytale character of mine in this chapter. Some of you may know who I'm talking about; the folktale is Russian with a base in events that did happen due to anti-Semitism

**There's just one point I'd like to make here. TrudiRose criticized me. She told me what was wrong, and what I needed to fix. I'm still a very inexperienced writer. I consider it your job as reviewers to tell me if my story sucks or what you like. I consider that your job to tell any author what you like or don't like, not just me. I know someone out there must have been unhappy with One Week, or if anyone is reading both of these, Circles of Change, too. I want you guys to tell me what I'm doing wrong. Tell me what you like and what you don't like. **

**Thank you. **

* * *

Helpless  
Unforgiven  
Cold and driven  
To this sad conclusion

_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Four: Unforgiven.**

They set out at first light the next morning, heading for Tyme Ago and the docks there.

Doris had slept rolled in her cloak, waking only once when Charming was about to pull her hood off. She'd hissed at him, shoved him back toward his bed, and gone back to sleep. The next morning she woke up painfully and almost immediately due to her awkward position sitting against the door. Then she'd roused Charming—an act she'd wished she could have been doing from beside him in the bed—and was greeted with a drawn dagger and a sleepy mumble of, "Mummy, I want _that _one!" She'd plucked the dagger from his barely resisting hand and woken him up more thoroughly with a high pitched, unDorislike call of, "Ohmigod, it's _Charming!_" The tousle-headed Prince had snapped awake, looking around in fear for the source of the voice. Doris had shaken her head at him, and they wordlessly devised a plan for getting out of the inn—"You _want _me coming with you to Narnia?" "You have a friend there. _I _don't know anyone there, so you need to be my guide. And who knows?" he added with a smirk. "Perhaps the girls there will love this gorgeous face as much as I do."—and then commenced to cleaning up.

Charming had set Doris to carry most of the baggage, choosing to carry only a few of the lighter bags himself. The stepsister could only assume that meant she was to go with him to Narnia. Thankfully they didn't have to run the plan—which had constituted of just running like hell—; the common room was empty but for a few hardcore girls that were sound asleep at tables. When they'd passed the hobgoblin that owned the tavern, he winked at Doris lasciviously as if he knew who she was.

"'Member wot I said 'bout the purple lady, lad. 'Member!" he called at their retreating backs. "It's how they get ya!"

Once they were in a better part of Far Far Away—a trip which was taken without much talking on either parties' part—Charming summoned a carriagebus. The yellow carriage pulled to a stop in front of them, and the driver leaned out the front window while Charming went to take a seat and Doris hauled the bags up the stairs. "Where to?" the old woman asked her.

"Tyme Ago," she said in her normal voice, since she was certain Charming wasn't within earshot.

"Right y'are," the lady said, and gave Doris less than half a minute to drag the bags down the center aisle and try to store them above the seats, then they were off, riding through the still-wet streets to the outskirts of the city. She slumped into the seat next to Charming, who had chosen two seats midway down the mostly empty 'bus, across from a girl with a cage containing a half-dozen ravens, and another one sat on her shoulder. The girl was nervously fingering the pinky finger on her left hand, and in that hand she had a death-grip on an empty kerchief. Doris let her eyes wander, and in the back of the 'bus was a seemingly empty seat, but upon closer examination, Doris saw what she didn't think she was imagining to be a piece of burned straw, a mostly-dead lump of coal, and a vibrating bean. She did, however think she was imagining the voices coming from two of them, and laughter coming from the third. She hastily averted her eyes to the front of the 'bus, where she saw someone who looked like an old customer of hers. Behind the driver sat a young woman, but she was mostly a skeleton held together by scraps of skin. Doris knew her to be a bride from her old, torn white silk wedding dress. Worms and spider webs hung on the once-beaded bodice and tattered veil, and her eyes were at once both hollow and hopeful as she stared out the window dreamily. Those three (or thirteen) occupants, not including herself and Charming constituted the entire rider group of the 'bus.

The journey took two days, and Charming and Doris stayed on the 'bus the entire time, only leaving to eat or relieve themselves when the driver switched with another driver—an old man—or when the nine horses needed a rest. They slept on the 'bus, too, so when they finally pulled into Tyme Ago in the middle of the second day, Doris's back was aching from the awkward position, and her heart was aching—Charming had fallen asleep on her shoulder the night before, and she had it figured that if he found a Princess in Archenland, he would never look twice at her. After all, who was she? Just another Ugly Stepsister. . . .

§

Charming stared at the dragon-prowed boat in front of them. "We're going on this?" he asked disdainfully.

The bodyguard cocked his head.

"Why couldn't we go on one of _those_?" he asked, gesturing at one of the larger, more luxurious-looking ships docked next to the ship the guard had chosen.

"Because the captain of the _Dawn Treader _knows Queen Lucy Pevensie and was willing to let us come on the ship as passengers for a cheaper rate than your chosen ships would have. And those ships aren't even _going _to Narnia," the bodyguard said in a gruff voice.

"Where are they going?" Charming asked curiously, interested despite himself.

"Neverland, Avalon, Toyland, just pick an island and they'll go."

"Couldn't we have persuaded them to change course or something?" Charming whined. "I don't want to go on that . . . _service _ship."

"Do you have some service to bribe them with, or money to buy out an entire cruise to Neverland and have it go somewhere uncharted?" the bodyguard asked brusquely.

Charming shut up.

In no time, the bodyguard had gotten them and their bags on the ship and packed away in the crew's quarters.

Charming stretched out in his tiny hammock, watching the bodyguard examine every nook and cranny of the hammock-filled room, save for the crewmen's personal belongings.

"How long do we have to stay in this. . . ship?" he asked, expecting that they would be in it for maybe a day, and perhaps he wouldn't even have to sleep in it.

"At least a week," the guard said.

Disbelivingly, he said, "Excuse me?"

"I said a week," the guard said impatiently. "Seven days, one hundred and sixty eight hours."

"We have to stay on this dingy boat for a _week_?" Charming exclaimed indignantly. "I thought–a day, perhaps a night–but a week? I don't want to sleep in this ratty hammock or in a room with a bunch of commoners for a week!"

Before the bodyguard could say a word, he stalked to the door, and nearly ran into a dark-haired boy at the door, who hadn't seen Charming because his head had been turned as he was talking to a fair-haired man wearing white clothing, who walked off when he noticed Charming and the look on his face.

"Eustace Scrubb," the boy said, putting out a hand cautiously.

"Out of my way," Charming said rudely, pushing past the boy and intending to go back to the docks and find a good bottle of wine, only to discover that they were already a decent distance away from shore and gaining speed, and that the deck was ful of activity.

_I don't _believe_ this!_ He thought furiously.

Not only was he stuck on this ship for two weeks, but he was also stuck on this ship without a decent bottle of wine.

He and the bodyguard made a mutual agreement for him not to talk to the guard for a few days, but on the third day, he couldn't take it anymore. Every day he had to either stay in that dingy cabin or go out onto the deck, where he'd get a burn or bleach his hair (the weather might be perfect every day, but it was _destroying _his complexion). Every night he had to deal with what could have been his private luxury room being full of large, sweaty, smelly, dirty men who swore good-naturedly and drank semi-copiously whenever the captain—that fair-haired chap, whose name was Caspian the Tenth, or something like that—the first mate, and that boy named Eustace weren't around. He'd sensed that the bodyguard disapproved of their actions, which somewhat mollified him, but that wasn't _near _enough to get him talking to the man again.

The bodyguard was on the forecastle deck, talking in a low voice with Caspian when Charming strode up determinedly.

When they'd both looked at him, he announced, "I want my own room."

The bodyguard blustered, "But you can't! The only other cabins belong to the captain and the first mate."

Caspian smiled sunnily at Charming. "I'm sorry your current location so displeases you, friend, but if you'd like, I can tell the crew to keep it down at night or—"

The bodyguard cut him off. "Charming, you're _being very rude_," he said warningly.

"I don't _care_!" he screamed, taking a firm grasp of the cloak. "I swear, if you've led me out here one some sort of fool's errand—" and he _pulled_.

§

Doris's vision was lost in a swirl of black as Charming pulled her concealing cloak off, and when she could see again, she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the unshadowed air—and was met by a horrified shriek. Charming stared at her like she was something out of darkest nightmare.

"You!" he shouted. "How did you–who did you–when did you—never _mind_! I'm getting out of here!" he shouted, oblivious to the stares of the crewmen and Eustace, who was standing on the quarter deck. Caspian was nowhere to be seen.

"We're on a boat in the middle of the ocean, gorgeous! Where do ya think yer gonna go?" Doris asked exasperatedly. Secretly she was sort of half-relieved that she could yell in her normal voice now, but only a little.

"Away from you!" Charming shouted, and ran toward the railing on the starboard side of the ship. Doris assumed he was running for the cabin. Assumed, up to the point where he used the railing as a lever to hurl himself over the side of the ship.

"Charming!" she shouted helplessly, and rushed to the railing. In the green-blueness of the water, she could see a blond head bobbing up and down in the water, accompanied by splashing.

"Help!" he yelled, floundering. "I can't swim!"

Suddenly what looked like a merman appeared beside him in the water, and he vanished with a scream.

Cursing at her ill luck, Doris kicked off her shoes and dove into the clear water after him. A white figure fell beside her, and when she'd surfaced after diving down a few feet, she discovered it to be Caspian, looking around frantically. "Do you see him?" she shouted.

"No! Does he do this a lot?" he shouted back before diving again.

"Do what a lot?" she called back when he surfaced, confused. Then she went back under water. When she came back up again, gasping for air, he yelled, "Whine and throw tantrums!"

"Yeah—hey!" she'd spotted him some distance below her, just sort of floating underwater, and he looked unconscious.

Quickly, she took a breath and swam straight down, angling for the drifting white and gold figure and kept her eyes open despite the stinging of the salt water.

She grabbed his arm and made to drag him back to the surface, but something stopped. Frantic, she glanced back down to see a merman dragging on one of his legs. Doris glared at him, and he tugged harder. She dragged herself back down along Charming's prone body, and hit the merman on the side of the head. Her blow was softened by the water, however, and didn't do much. Her lungs were starting to burn, and it felt like her chest was going to explode. Panicking, she pulled her belt knife and brandished it at him. He recoiled, and she madly swam for the surface, dragging Charming behind her. She could only see red—her lungs were on fire—they were never going to make it—her head broke the surface, and she gasped and choked, and suddenly Caspian was beside her, pulling Charming's head above water, giving Doris some room to breathe. A few sailors were bringing a boat down from the ship, and Doris felt the pain in her lungs start to fade in the face of her fear for Charming's life. She wrenched his head around and placed her ear next to his mouth. She couldn't really tell if he was breathing or not; the sound of the water slapping against the side of the _Dawn Treader _masked it, but she couldn't feel his breath against her ear. The crewmen hauled Charming into the boat first, then helped Doris in. Caspian pulled himself in last, and they headed back to the ship. On the deck, crewmen hurried about, pulling the boat back up, and several clustered around Charming, who was lying flat on his back while Caspian and Rhince, his first mate performed CPR on him.

Minutes passed without anything happening, then Charming started coughing and spitting up water. Doris heaved a sigh of relief. _He's okay. _

When he managed to sit upright with Rhince's help, he gave her a weak glare. "Go away," he rasped, and Caspian glared at him.

"Why you ingrateful—" he began, but Doris cut him off.

"I can handle it," she said.

Then she reached out, grasped Charming's chin in a pincer grasp, and turned him to face her.

And then she slapped him soundly.


	5. Improve Me

Thanks to: The Blimp Alchemist, Mandy of the Amoeba, TrudiRose, and Amber Stag (if insulting your BF is what I have to do to get you to review, then perhaps I'll do it more often.).

Notes: I'm basing Doris's accent off of a New York City accent, since that's what she sounded like to me. And I know Caspian may seem sort of ooc, since he never really did much to Eustace (who was a sot in the beginning) in 'Voyage of the_ Dawn Treader_,' but Eustace was related to Lucy and Edmund, and royal relations always come before boxing the person in question about the ears. Charming on the other hand, pretty though he may be, is not related to any sort of royalty, even though his title is Prince.

Again, I'm hearing rumors that replying to reviewers makes a fic count as interactive, which is banned from fanfiction . net (god knows why). Thus all authors that reply to reviewers will have the story in question removed from fanfiction . net. I'm wondering if anyone can verify this.

* * *

No beauty could move me  
No goodness improve me  
No power on earth, if I can't love her

_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Five: Improve Me**

Charming's neck snapped to the side so fast he felt it crack. Still gasping, he grabbed his cheek and tried to scoot away from That Woman, only to back up against a pair of white-clad legs. He looked up to see an angry aristocratic face—Caspian—and continued to try to scoot backward. The legs remained firm, however, and he looked back at That Woman in panic, only to find that she hadn't moved—rather, she was kneeling next to where he'd been lying, looking vexed and forlorn.

He eyed the mole on her upper right lip, remembering what the hobgoblin had said. _A dream in 'at you married a Ugly Stepsister named Doris wif a mole on her face, an' she was wearin' a purple dress!_

When she looked at him, he was surprised at the the amount of hurt in her eyes. Hurt and ire. She narrowed her eyes, and Charming knew that if glares were lances, he'd be a pretty ragged quintain. "What—" she began, "—_what_ did you think you were doin', throwing ya'self off the side of a ship in the middle of the ocean, and what were you _thinkin'_, not bein' able to swim?"

Charming opened his mouth to reply, incensed. "What did you think _you_ were doing, following me out here and kidnapping my bodyguard, only to take his place?"

The Woman laughed bitterly. "_You _were the one who called _me _over, sweetheart. Your original guy walked in a few minutes later, but you were too busy bein' afraid of the girls that you didn't even notice." Charming wanted to smack himself. He should have ordered to see her Knite, Murc, and Lawd I.D. She continued, "All I did was walk into that tavern, and you called me over. I tried to take off my hood, but you said 'Don't.' What was I s'posed to do, pull off the hood against your orders?"

"I _asked_ if you were wearing purple," Charming said indignantly.

"I said I wasn't, and I wasn't. Point 'a fact, I was wearin' blue."

"But—" he spluttered. "Why would you follow me in the first place?" he asked nervously. Was she like those fangirls from the tavern? Was she going to pounce on him any moment and attempt to. . . have her way with him? Was she—

"Idn't it obvious? You're the hottest guy on the block! All the girls are crazy about you! Why—" the forlorn look came back, "Why shouldn' I—" here she paused, looking uncertain, and as if she wanted to say something more. She didn't, though, and just repeated herself. "Why shouldn' I?"

What he _wanted _to say—swear words (that Mummy hadn't taught him) and insults all—came out as, "Who _are_ you?"

Now she smiled morosely. "Me? Why, I thought you knew. I'm just an Ugly Stepsister."

Ah. The classic Ugly Stepsister, always a factor in Cinderella fairytales. They would use the cinder girl as a slave, and at a Ball, the aforementioned cinder girl would call his mother, put on a fancy dress, (and sometimes a mask) go to the Ball, win the Prince's heart, return home, be rediscovered by the lucky Prince, and live happily ever after. They weren't destined for happy endings, but what happened to the Stepsister(s) and the Stepmother varied as much as the Princes did; this one had fared well so far, apparently. Or perhaps not so well, looking at the dejected look on her face.

"Do you know what she did for you?" Caspian asked. He hadn't moved since Charming had shored up against his legs, but he spoke now, and the menace in his voice was clear. "When you decided to throw your little temper-tantrum, she jumped off the boat and tried to rescue you from that merman. In fact, she _did _rescue you, and fought off that merman to do it. Had she not, you would have drowned." He glared down at Charming, who gulped. Maybe she had pulled him from the water, but he surely would have roused in a moment and fought the creature off on his own, right?

"But—but—"

"No 'buts', _Prince _Charming. Even if you were a Prince, you have behaved abominably this entire trip. Aslan has said 'be respectful to your fellow man,' and you have most certainly not been."

"And who are you to tell me how a Prince behaves?" Charming snapped.

Caspian drew himself up to his full height, which was only an inch or so above Charming, but now instead of simply hovering over Charming, he towered over him. "I," he said in a dignified manner, "am Caspian the Tenth, one of the Kings of Narnia. I command this ship, and allowed Doris to bring you along because she insisted it was important. She paid us, worked with us, and was exceedingly polite this entire voyage. Who do you think _you _are?"

In an imitation of Caspian, Charming stood up and faced the King. "I am Prince Charming, a man destined to rescue and woo Princesses from horrible fates such as dragon-guarded solitude, apple-induced coma, and shapeshifting sorcery. I've ridden through blistering winds and scorching desert, I kill dangerous beasts and work my way through puzzles of the mind and tests of will. I've fought ogres and wolves and am the son of a woman who can make your dreams come true."

Caspian blinked once in confusion, but a bark of laughter from behind him caused his lips to twitch. Eustace strode up, still chuckling. "'A man destined to rescue and woo Princesses'? What kind of a job description is that? It was very vague, sounded terribly rehearsed, and was even more clichéd, friend. Now who are you, really?"

Charming felt like someone had just kicked him in the gut. They didn't _believe _him! He _was _Prince Charming, was destined to save damsels in distress. He hadn't quite killed any dangerous beasts, but he _had _fought that ogre for Fiona, and technically had fought that wolf in the Forest of Solitude before deciding that it was too much trouble to kill and hightailed it out of there. And his mother—his mother _had_ been able to make people's dreams come true. She'd certainly made King Harold into a human, hadn't she?

Eustace must have seen the confusion in his eyes, and elaborated. "Who are you as a person?" he asked. Was that pity in his eyes?

_Prince Charming doesn't need pity!_ Charming snarled, and glared again at Caspian before turning to face the boy. "I am a man of honor, and a man of my word," he growled through gritted teeth. "I am the son of a Fairy Godmother, and I need no one's help _or _pity. I am selfless and a brave warrior, and I fight in the name of True Love. I—"

Eustace shook his head. "For someone who is 'selfless,' why throw yourself off the side of a ship instead of trying to make a woman who cares for you happy?"

_What an idiot,_ Charming thought.

"I only woo Princesses," he said slowly, as if speaking to a fairly slow child. "Princesses are quality. That woman," he said, gesturing at Doris, "is clearly not. I—"

Caspian boxed him across the face, knocking him to the deck.

"How _dare_ you," he hissed. "_How dare you_ call Doris Renoir _not quality?_ Doris is clearly a woman of quality. She may not look it, but she has a heart of gold, even though it may be wrapped up in chains which you hold the other end to." Doris tried to say something but Caspian plowed on. "She works at a bar, and has met plenty of men; why she would choose to idolize you is _beyond _my understanding, but by Aslan's mane, I will _not _have you insult a woman on my ship, especially not this woman."

"Then why don't _you_ woo her?" Charming said, feeling only the smallest bit guilty.

"Because I'm already wed," Caspian snapped. "To the daughter of a star, but were I not, I would not hesitate to court Doris."

The woman in question blushed, but then opened her mouth to say what she'd been trying to since the 'wrapped in chains' comment. "I'm not in love with him, Caspian. Far from it. I idolize him, but I don't _love_ him."

Both men turned to stare at her, but Charming opened his mouth first. "Then why in hell did you follow me out here?"

"I don't know! I know I got prob'ly no chance with you, but somethin' in me's tellin' me I gotta try. I aint destined for a good endin', but I can try to change it, or at least be happy before my endin' comes. And even if I can't, at least I'll know I got to travel with Prince Charming."

"Oh," he said, unsure of what else to say. He really couldn't say anything else; the argument seemed sound enough from his point of view.

"Why couldn't you follow someone else?" he finally blurted out helplessly, still staring at her.

"You were the only one I didn't know," she said, and in her brown eyes was almost disenchantment.

Wondering what she meant by that, he turned to walk away, still disgusted by the fact that the woman who had accosted him at the Ball had found him here. Or he would have, had Caspian not stepped into his path. "You are not going anywhere," he said. "For the insult you gave the Lady, you'll be a deckhand for the next three days." As Charming's jaw dropped in indignation, Caspian added, almost as an afterthought, "and should a storm come up or if we have no wind, you'll be an oarsman."

That said, Rhince came up beside him, grabbed hold of Charming's ear and dragged him down an open hatch that had previously escaped Charming's notice. As they descended the ladder, Rhince let go of Charming's ear, then when Charming had reached the half-deserted rowing deck. The only sailors there were either engaged in a game of cards or sleeping—those lying in their hammocks were the night watch—and the ones that were still awake rose to their feet as Rhince came in.

"Sir!" they saluted, but Rhince waved them down.

"I'm just showing our. . . guest. . . around," he said. "As you were."

He plopped Charming down onto one of the six benches lining the port side. The oar for that particular bench was drawn into the ship, and was hung up on the hull with its fellows. Each one had a different colored band around the end, corresponding to the color of the paint lining the hole in the wall next to each bench. Rhince pointed at a red banded pole, and Charming took it down, wondering what he was supposed to do with it.

"Put the blade through the hole," Rhince coached him, and Charming thrust the wide, flat part roughly through the hole, while the sailors near the door to what Charming assumed was Caspian's quarters—since the door was emblazoned with an ornate _C_, and had a lock—watched with interest.

"Be _careful!_" Rhince growled as one of the sailors snickered. "If you break that oar, so help you, we do _not _have spares."

Charming rolled his eyes and fed the oar carefully through the hole as the first mate watched with narrowed eyes. "Happy now?" Charming asked when the oar was stopped in its motion by the knob about three feet from the end of the pole.

"Now row," Rhince commanded.

"What?" Charming asked, certain he'd misunderstood the man.

"You heard me," the man said. "You need some practice, boy," he said as Charming lifted the anchor and began trying to row—backwards. "Stop!" he barked, and Charming let go of the oar gratefully—it chafed his hands where the sword calluses werent, and he fervently hoped a storm would not catch the ship.

"What!" he asked, exasperated.

"Never row in that direction unless the boatswain commands," Rhince chastised him. "It will either stress the oar to break, tangle it with the others, or if a significant number of oarsmen row like you just did, the ship will move backwards if the sails are lowered. Understand?"

Charming nodded.

"Good. Now you can put the oar back, and I'll show you where your cleaning supplies are."

§

Charming glared at the mop, dunked it back into the bucket, and angrily scrubbed at the deck in front of him. It was coated with a thin veneer of salt, which he kept pushing into piles, only to have them scatter along the deck again when the ship crested a wave. Finally he just resorted to pushing each pile through the little holes at the edges of the deck—_scuppers, Caspian had called them_—and watched almost gleefully as his multi-faceted nemeses fell in sparkling showers to be caught by the waves. When he'd finished with the main deck, he moved back to the poop deck, and when he was finished with that, he wiped off the salt-encrusted railings. He hadn't seen That Woman—_Doris_, he reminded himself—since Rhince had dragged him into the belly of the ship. Scowling, he felt his sweaty upper lip. Not only was it encrusted with salt from his own sweat and salt from the sea, it had _stubble_.

He hadn't been able to shave since he'd boarded the blasted boat—the ship's fresh water supply was strictly rationed, and Charming couldn't find the gallon of water he required for shaving. He also couldn't bathe like he wanted to; again, the water supply was strictly rationed, and if he wanted to bathe like he normally did, it would have to be using salt water to wash with and then quickly rinsing off in a minimal supply of fresh water. His _hair _was splitting, and his small supply of conditioner was running out, along with his shampoo and Rain-Fresh bodywash. If he was going to be reduced to using the harsh soap that the sailors used, he would just _die_. And his tender neck was getting sunburned, not to mention the chafing of his salt-stiffened clothes against his tender skin. . . .

He licked the salt off his lip and shoved a pile he hadn't noticed before through a scupper, then dumped the bucket of dirty water overboard. Then he grabbed it and the mop, and tried to sneak them off to the closet they'd come from.

No such luck.

After he'd stowed his burdens in the cleaning closet, Eustace spotted him sneaking away from the poop deck cabins _sans_ any obvious cleaning supplies and stopped him. "Going somewhere?"

"Er—" Charming said, but couldn't think of any excuses to tell the boy.

"You were shirking, weren't you?" Eustace asked.

With the way the boy was staring at him, Charming knew it would be impossible to tell a lie. "Yes," he sighed. "Please—my hands can't take this anymore! I'm not made for this kind of work. If I keep doing this, my skin will start to blister, or—Grimm forbid—I'll get _freckles_! Freckles! They'll blemish my poor, overtanned skin, and never go away, and what Princess will let me court her then? I'll be a total failure as a Prince!" He lamented.

"Calm down," Eustace said, completely unruffled by Charming's wailing.

"Please get me another job," Charming pleaded. "I'll do anything as long as it doesn't involve lasting physical damage on my skin, body and face. And hair," he added as an afterthought.

Eustace stared off into space for a moment, then smiled. "I think I have an idea," he said, staring at Charming with a gleam in his eyes.


	6. If I Can't Love Her

TrudiRose: Thanks.

Mandy of the Amoeba: Yes. Yes it is.

The Blimp Alchemist: Four words: Hurricanes suck goblin ass.

* * *

No passion could reach me  
No lesson could teach me  
How I could have loved her and made her love me too  
If I can't love her, then who?  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Six: If I Can't Love Her**

Charming followed Eustace down a different flight of wooden stairs than before, and was surprised to find himself in—a kitchen? A dark haired man stood at one of the tables, chopping vegetables, occasionally shoving them to the side to join a good-sized pile off to his left.

As Charming surveyed the kitchen, he wasn't all that surprised to see that everything was either bolted down, strapped down, or in locked, sturdy cabinets that had, in turn, been bolted to the floor; he'd learned in his first few days at sea that the ship rolled sometimes, and water pitchers had habits of landing on you in the middle of the night when they'd previously been located on the table across the room.

"Hey, Santos!" Eustace hailed, and the man looked up.

"Yo!" he called back, clearly happy to have some company. Looking Charming up and down, he asked, "Who's your friend?"

"Charming Fortuna," Eustace said. "He shall be helping you in the kitchen." With that, he turned and left the two men alone in the kitchen.

"So you know how to cook?"

"A bit," Charming said doubtfully. In truth, the only times he'd had to cook for himself had been the few times he was out in the woods on Knightly Quests for some random peasant or another in the woods around Mummy's factory.

"So you know nothing."

"Not really, no."

Santos smirked. "Time you learned, then."

Charming swallowed rather noisily.

§

In the end, it really wasn't that difficult. A bit embarrassing, to be true. While Santos had been impressed by Charming's vegetable-chopping skills, he'd also dove for cover when Charming had first brought out the sword.

"Put it _away, _Junior! Stop waving it around—you're going to hurt yourself!" Muffled squeaks of alarm, then an "Oooh," that had suitably soothed Charming's bruised ego as he'd diced and cubed vegetables.

At least he had a talent that _someone _on this ship appreciated, Charmin mused as he peeled potatoes. The fancy swordwork really was no good against ogres or something like that damn cat, but it did have its virtues.

Suddenly a sharp blade interrupted his line of thought. He muffled a curse as the knife sliced into his finger, drawing Santos' attention.

"What's up, kid—oh. Here." he threw Charming a rag, which the knight hastily wrapped around his bloody finger. Then he muffled a more creative curse as he tore the rag away from his hand.

"Keep it on," the cook advised him. "I was just salting a bowl with it, but the salt will help with the cut."

"Are you _insane_? That _hurts_!" Charming exclaimed.

Santos looked at him irritably. "It's sea salt and your cut will heal faster if you put that on it."

With another curse, Charming wrapped the rag back around his finger and groaned for the next few minutes until Santos looked over at him.

"Why aren't you peeling?" he asked, studying Charming critically. "It's just a little cut and those potatoes need to be ready for dinner.

"How am I supposed to peel them?" Charming whined. "My finger hurts." To make his point, he looked down at the rag but was chagrined to find that it hadn't bled through the rag yet. Surely for a cut that hurt that much it should be bleeding a lot more.

Santos gave a muffled laugh and made a suggestion, and five minutes later Charming was bracing a potato between his knees and awkwardly peeling it.

§

"So what plans have you once we put to shore?" Caspian asked.

"I guess I try to get 'im an audience with Lucy, and then if that doesn't work, he'll want to go to Archenland to see the Princesses there. So I guess—"

"Do you mean to say that you are going to introduce him to competition with all good wishes?" Caspian asked incredulously. "My lady, from what I have seen and known of you these past few days on the Dawn Treader, this is most unlike you! You should pursue him—scoundrel though he is—and make him see you and understand that you love him!"

"But he does see me," Doris said helplessly, "and he doesn't like what he sees."

"Doris," Caspian began, leaning in. "I knew a girl once, and I loved her with all of my being. The first time I saw her it was a little love, yet when I saw her again, that little love flowered, and I loved her with all of my being, but she . . . left before I could tell her how I felt." He paused, and Doris knew he was struggling with something. She leaned in. "The next time I saw her, we were both dead."

She jerked back, and Caspian smiled and turned the conversation. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know I'm—oh. I suppose you didn't know."

She eyed him. He didn't _seem_ to be rotting, and parts of his body weren't removable. . . .

"I _was _alive when I was in Shadow-Narnia, before it ended, and I suppose. . . I supposed I _am _alive now, in a way . . . Ah, no matter. So." He grinned. "What are you going to do about the lovable cretin?"

Doris thought back on her words from before, and then made a decision. "I. . . I'll take him to Narnia, but I _won't _take him to Archenland. If he wants to go so badly, he'll figure it out himself."

"Ah."

§

"Now introducing Prince Charming Fortuna and the Lady Doris Renoir!"

Doris on one arm, Charming walked forward slowly toward the three thrones on the other side of the great room. He wasn't used to being in the presence of a higher station than he, and it unnerved him that there were six of them. Of course, only three of them really mattered, but six were intimidating, to say the least.

"All hail Peter, High King over all Kings in Narnia, and Emperor of the Lone Isles!" A tall, magnificent blonde man strode calmly into the room, taking his place on the middle of the three thrones. As they neared, Charming could make out that of the two people that had already been seated, one was a golden headed girl with gay features and a content smile on her face, and the other throne contained a young man with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard on his otherwise stern chin.

When they drew close to the throne, Doris dropped into a curtsey, pulling him down into an awkward bow, which he recovered from quickly, drawing back up with a flourish and a grin that never failed to charm a lady.

The High King eyed him for a moment, and then the woman broke the semi-awkward silence. "Lady Doris, 'tis nice to finally meet you. You never mentioned in your letters that you intended to pay a visit to Narnia, but it is nice to meet you at last."

Doris smiled the first true smile Charming had seen on her face. It did wonders for his impression of her, even though it wasn't directed at him.

"It truly is, my Queen," she said, looking the woman in the eyes. Charming finally figured out that this was the 'Lucy' that Doris had been talking about.

"Please." Lucy's smile was gentle. "Call me Lucy."

"Yes, Lucy."

"But who is your friend?" Lucy asked. "Surely he must be the Prince Charming you mentioned in your letters!"

Doris nodded, and Charming stared at them both, feeling uncomfortable. What, exactly had Doris mentioned along with his name? Had she mentioned his failed attempt to win Fiona? His failure as a Prince? The fact that Fiona had chosen an ogre over him?

"Doris has mentioned you frequently, and has always spoken of you fondly." She bestowed a bright smile on him, and he flushed for some reason, feeling a tug on his stomach, something that felt suspiciously like guilt.

§

Later, after they had been formally introduced to King Peter and King Edmund, and been introduced to their friends, Diggory, Polly, and Jill, Lucy asked a friend of hers to show them to their rooms. Not just a friend, but also a man who was clearly very much smitten with her.

"Now we shan't long now, just a few more turns," the Faun informed them cheerily.

"So what do you think of Queen Lucy?" Doris asked, trying to keep up a conversation.

"Oh, she is a wonderful young lady, she is," Tumnus said. "A glorious Queen and a valiant and loyal friend. I remember when I first met her; she was just a beautiful and innocent child. . . ." he looked wistful for a moment, and then as they neared the turning for yet another hallway his face cleared. "Ah, here we are."

He opened the door to a magnificent suite and ushered them in, happily chattering away about Lucy. When Charming opened the door to what he supposed was the bedroom, for the only other door off the sitting room led to the bathroom, he frowned.

"Why is there only one bed?"

Doris came up behind him, and it was all he could do not to flinch away.

"You want it?" she asked, not looking at him.

He gaped at her. For one thing—"You don't want the bed?"

"You're the Prince."

"You expect me to let a lady sleep on the couch?" he asked with a touch of arrogance. "I may not be overly fond of you, but I'm not _that _callous."

She nodded and moved away, gravitating towards Tumnus, who was cheerfully informing what looked like a dryad what the two guests would need, and summing up the answers to questions he'd asked them while showing them to their suite.

As Charming decided that he'd had enough of looking at the single gigantic bed complete with multiple pillows and an incredibly soft-looking comforter, he closed the door to the suite and looked over at Doris and the Faun.

The latter was nowhere to be seen; only the dryad was carrying their bags with the strength of an elm past him into the bedroom, and Doris was walking toward the door, clearly intending to go somewhere.

"Where are you going?" he asked, attempting to sound authoritative.

"None of your business," she said quietly, then swept out the door with a grace he hadn't seen in her before.

He was left gaping as she left, and then a seemingly random thought struck him. _What happened to the stolid, sometimes-friendly bartender? _

§

"So then he tells me—in front of the entire crew—that I'm _not quality_!"

Lucy gasped, and Doris groaned. "See? I told you it was bad!"

"Oo-oo-ooh! What a cur!" Jill exclaimed angrily. "By the Lion's Mane, if I were you, I'd have slapped the brat silly!"

"I _did _slap him," Doris reminded her. "It didn't do anything."

"Well," Lucy said, "I can't think of aught that would make him change in his feelings, but just keep on being nice to him, even if he becomes a total rapscallion. It worked on Eustace, and it may well work on Charming."

Doris had no faith in the 'let's-be-nice' plan. It might have worked on a Narnian, but Charming was _not _from Narnia. It wouldn't work. No way.

Lucy must have noticed the disbelieving expression on Doris's face, for she said soothingly, "I'm sure it will."

Doris just looked at her again, and this time Jill sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I ask Ed to flirt with you a little to seem more appealing to him?"

"Huh?"

"Ed's a King. He may not be the High King, but if Charming sees that you're more appealing to him than Tarkheena Lasaraleen—"

_Tarkheena?_

"Tarkheena?" Doris asked, confused.

"Something like a Calormene Princess," Jill explained.

"There's a Princess here?" Doris blurted.

"Ye—oh. _Oh. _Uh-oh," Lucy frowned.

"Uh-oh?" Jill echoed.

"Prince Charming is looking for a Princess. If he finds out that Lasaraleen is a Princess, there's no telling what he'll do to get her, and what will happen to Doris should he do so."

"Oh," Jill said. "What _will_ happen?"

Doris looked at the ground, shamefaced. "I don't know," she admitted. "I'll probably go back to Far Far Away on the next ship, but for all I know, I could stay here if he goes back with whatever Princess he finds." Suddenly she felt hopeful. "_Could _I stay here? Its so peaceful, and there was a lot of stuff that you mentioned that I wanted to see."

"Stuff?" Jill and Lucy both asked.

"Things," Doris explained, wondering how they didn't know what _stuff _meant.

"Ah."

§

"And then, just when I had finally reached the tallest room of the tallest tower, I found a cross-dressing wolf instead of my wife-to-be," Charming finished.

The dark-skinned woman smiled. "And then what did you do, dear?"

"I did what any man would do," he said proudly, feeling something uncomfortable twist around his stomach.

"And what is that?" the woman asked idly.

He decided to ignore the feeling, and said, "I went after her, of course."

"Did you ever find her?" she asked, even though she really didn't look interested in the answer.

"Yes," Charming said regretfully (whether it was for what he was explaining or that the woman wasn't paying attention he didn't know) and sighed gustily. Then inspiration struck. "What is your name again?"

"Lasaraleen," the woman said boredly.

"Lasaraleen." Charming rolled it around on his tongue and found it to be quite exotic. He lifted her hand to his lips and bowed over it. "Pleasure."

Lasaraleen smiled lazily. "It is."

* * *

A/N: Don't make the little purple button feel neglected . . . . 


	7. Should Have Seen

Somehow, this isn't really going where I wanted it to. _Charming _was supposed to be a fairytale fic mostly, and then they would get to Narnia in the end, say, in one chapter or so. It wasn't supposed to turn into a Narnia fic. Despite this, I like it better than _One Week_, which went from being a romance to a total farce. And I'm sorry about the lack of updates. School, work, general laziness, etc.

Thanks to TrudiRose, Mandy of the Amoeba, The Blimp Alchemist, and LadyCrescentStar. You guys rock my socks off.

* * *

Long ago I should have seen  
All the things I might have been  
Careless and unthinking  
I moved onward  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Seven: Should Have Seen **

"Ahem." There was a knocking on the open doorframe, and Charming looked up from the book he was reading.

"Er—" he said uncertainly. "Can I help you?"

The dryad standing in the doorway swayed slightly in a nonexistent breeze and tugged absentmindedly on the ribbons dangling from her arms.

"Lord Fortuna, the Lady Renoir requests your presence in one hour in your rooms," she said dreamily.

Somehow the thought of meeting with _her_ didn't spur a worrisome feeling in his gut anymore. "Why?"

"I cannot say." The tree-woman paused. "She also requested that you retain an appetite."

He shrugged. "Sure."

Within a half hour, he had finished the book and reshelved it instead of leaving it on the table like he had the last few times. After the Faun who was the librarian had yelled at him about leaving _books _in the _open_ like that for any sensitive dryad to see, he'd taken some responsibility and began putting the books back where he'd found them.

He found Doris sitting on the couch of the outer room of the suite. A plate of sandwiches was on the table next to her.

"Oh, uh, Charming. Hey. Sandwich?"

He ignored the sandwiches and her offer. "Good afternoon," he said. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yeah. Lucy said there was gonna be a ball soon."

Charming perked up. "How soon?"

"Like tomorrow."

"And I should care why?" he said flippantly.

The hurt look in her eyes made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably, and he regretted being so abrupt and discourteous.

"My apologies, Doris."

"Nah, it's alright. I just wanted to ask if you knew about it."

"So what, are you asking me to go or something? Because if you must know, I will not be going to whatever ball they are having, and I most certainly would not go with you."

Her face crumpled and he instantly felt like the biggest heel in the world.

_Damn, _he thought. _It's like something in her brings out the worst in me. _

He decided to crush the feelings of guilt and said, "I'm sorry, that was uncouth."

She shook her head but didn't look at him. "Don't worry 'bout it."

Throwing caution to the wind, he said in his most formal, princely tones, "Milady Doris, would you like to go to the ball with me?"

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, and for once she was speechless.

Charming felt impatience welling up within him and suppressed it for once; if he was going to make nice with the Stepsister he was actually going to have to put some effort into it.

"Please?" he almost had to grind it out. _Please don't make my efforts to be nice be in vain, lady. _

"S-sure," she said.

"Good. I shall be around to collect you a half hour before the ball begins. Is that permissible?"

"Oh y--of course, Highness."

Charming preened under her words, and then grabbed a sandwich, turned on his heel and left. It was only until he had reached the safety of the hall outside that he realized what he had signed himself in for.

"Oh--my word," was all he had time to say before he dropped the sandwich and the ground came rushing up at him.

§

"What am I going to wear?" Charming fretted as he pawed through his bags. "There must be something I can wear to this stupid ba--ah."

He pulled out the expensive white and gold outfit, laid it on the bed, and stepped back appraise it. After eyeing the small faint brown spot on the rear of the pants from where he'd fallen, he smiled.

"This will do nicely."

§

Doris was really a fantastic dancer, Charming decided as they turned around the floor for the fifth time. By now her chocolate eyes were twinkling and she was laughing out loud. He wondered how he could ever have thought her ugly. The dress certainly helped; it was a Narnian style; long and sweeping and purple with silver vines embroidered around the hems and sweeping neckline. She was obviously wearing a corset under it; Charming had noticed her enough at the Poison Apple that he knew her waist wasn't normally that defined.

Still, she did cut quite a figure in the borrowed dress. Her hair was pulled back into a more elegant bun than her normal one, and the mole on her face was almost invisible under the layer of makeup she was wearing. Someone had plucked her brows so that they were more womanly, and the makeup defined cheekbones that he hadn't noticed before.

_Not... not _quite _an ugly stepsister_, he thought to himself. _More like a changeling_. Her face changed with her mood, apparently. When she was feeling sad or angry her face would darken and the apparently male half of her would kick in, making her look more like a cross-dressing man with breasts. But when she smiled she was gorgeous.

Not that he had begun to change his feelings about her, of course! Oh no. Princes simply did _not _marry stepsisters. Beautiful stepsisters. What would Mummy say?

"Where did you learn to dance?" he asked her as they whirled around in the fun yet stately dance of the Narnians.

"Here and there," she replied evasively. At his look, she said, "Oh, fine. My mother taught me when we were going to the Prince's ball. Cinderella got chosen, but I always wanted to remember the dance where I was really happy. So I remembered how to dance."

"Oh," was all he said. He hadn't imagined that the former bartender could have been so deep. Speaking of which... "Why did you decide to become a bartender at the Poison Apple?"

Doris shrugged. "Nowhere else to go. I knew how to mix drinks--I had to learn after our house got repo'd and my mother sent us to work in a tavern."

"Us?"

"My sister and I. Elise married a nice farmer and moved to the countryside in Landago. I kept bartending in the Smiling Moon until Mother got arrested and the guard came looking for me. She'd been arrested for fraud, you see--something about trying to sell golden apples to the fairest girls in the land."

"How did she get golden apples?" Charming asked, interested.

"She didn't. It turned out she'd been stealing sweet apples from the Katschei's garden--you know, the one over in Fleursburg--and was coating them with spun sugar with caramel mixed in."

"Sounds tasty," he remarked.

"I wouldn't know," Doris said. "She never let me have one."

On an impulse, he promised, "I'll find you a caramel apple. It may not have sugar in it, but it'll be luscious."

"Luscious." She visibly rolled the word around in her mouth. "Sounds good."

After one more dance they parted for a Faun to take Charming's place while he left to find a drink or two.

He sauntered toward where he had last seen Queen Lucy, figuring that she of all people would have drink servers hovering around. As he walked he enjoyed the gazes he was receiving from the female dancers, both human and not. He snagged a cheese hors d'oeuvre off of a platter and chewed it thoughtfully as he walked.

Why was he being so impulsive around the stepsister? There had to be something. It couldn't have been witchcraft; the port guards would have picked that up and arrested her on the spot. He finally attributed it to his efforts to be nice. They must have thrown him off. Maybe he was turning a new leaf or something.

Nah.

Had to be the 'or something.' Charming Fortuna did not change to please others. Others changed to please him.

A weeping willow dryad carrying drinks on a platter that seemed to have grown out of her shoulder bent gracefully and offered him a drink. He selected two, and she rustled upright again and breezed off. He took a sip from one, decided that it wasn't to his liking; being slightly sour, and took a smaller sip from the other. To his relief it was simply sweetened ale, and he decided that Doris could have the other one. She wouldn't mind.

When he'd found her again she was standing against the wall, alone, and he handed her the other drink.

She took it; raised it to her lips; turned the glass around in her strong hands until her mouth matched the spot where his had been. Savored the taste of him unashamedly.

A kiss across glass.

He watched, almost fascinated as did this and then as she sipped the bitter drink. Had she been watching him from across the room?

"What is that?" he asked, uncomfortable at her actions but still slightly excited.

"Oh, um, it's pomegranate wine."

"Is it good?" he asked, trying to cover up the fact that he had already tasted it.

"I think you already know," she told him.

He flushed and almost said something nasty, but he held his tongue. It was a good thing, too, because Lasaraleen swept up.

"Hello darling," she said grandly, placing a lazy hand on Charming's shoulder.

"Erm--Doris, this is Tarkheena Lasaraleen," he told the stepsister.

"Nice to meetcha," Doris said uncouthly, extending one perfectly manicured hand.

"Delightful," Lasaraleen said, taking in Doris's royal purple dress in one calculated glance.

"Tarkheena Lasaraleen, this is Doris."

He only noticed after he'd said it that he hadn't given Doris a title--a grave insult in Calormen. Thankfully Lasaraleen only raised an eyebrow, though Doris looked slightly put out.

When Lasaraleen finally sashayed off to accost some Queen named Aravis something-something, Charming turned to Doris and asked her how she liked the woman. Doris just turned her back on him and exaggeratedly swayed off, presumably to find Lucy.

Charming smoothed his hands down the suit he'd only worn once and sighed.

It seemed he had messed up yet again.


	8. No Life Could be Cheaper

Thanks to TerrierLee, Amber Stag, Mandy of the Amoeba, and LadyCrescentStar.

* * *

No pain could be deeper  
No life could be cheaper  
No point anymore  
If I can't love her  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Eight: No Life Could be Cheaper**

"What is Lasaraleen like?" Doris asked.

The girls and Cor were having a war-council in Lucy's room. It was all Jill's idea; she'd seen Doris walk off in a huff and then stand outside the main ballroom behind a few Dryads, trying to hold back tears.

"Oh, Lasaraleen isn't really a bad sort," Aravis said consolingly. "She's just a little. . . I don't know what you would really call her. Dear?"

"She's a bit stuffy," Cor said. Or was it Shasta? Doris had heard him called by both names, although the only one who seemed to use the latter was a dappled Horse.

"Anyhow, she can be quite silly," Aravis continued. "Very silly, but she's really a good person, even if she doesn't take much of anything seriously."

"Would she hurt him?"

"Hurt him? Las? Oh--never!" Aravis cried. "She may be a melodramatic flirt who loves attention, but she would never hurt anyone intentionally."

"So she's good for him," said Doris. "And she's a princess." There it was. She was defeated.

Lucy looked sympathetic. "Oh Doris. I'm sure this will all work out."

"It seemed like he was trying to be nice," Doris said. "He was polite, a real gentleman. And hunky as ever. And then when she showed up he just changed. Didn't call me a Lady, didn't call me anything except for Doris." She wrinkled her nose. "But _she _gets to be called Tarkheena and _she _get his attention and--"

"Doris?" Jill said, getting her attention.

"_What?_"

"You're whining."

Doris flushed. She _had _been whining.

"You've got the right, though," Lucy said. "I mean, Charming _is _being a cad."

"But it's not proper for a Lady of Narnia to--"

"Doris is not a woman of Narnia!" Lucy said. "She came from _outside _these lands with Charming to help find him a Princess. Anyhow, we're getting off-topic."

"Could I be a Lady of Narnia, though?" Doris asked. "I mean, there's nothing really for me back on the other side of the Ocean, and I think I'd be much happier here."

"I shall mention it to Peter," Lucy said. "We've not yet had anyone wanting to stay here, but I'm sure he would be delighted to have you remain here. I could also have him talk to Charming if you want--no? Well, whyever not?"

"It's not his business. And it wouldn't change Charming's mind," Doris said.

Then she got up and walked towards the door. "But thanks," she said. "I think I know what to do." And then she walked out.

"Oh!" said Lucy faintly. "We haven't done anything to help Doris at all!"

§

"We gotta talk," Doris said without preamble as she walked into the library.

"Well whatever about?" Lasaraleen asked.

"Charming," Doris said. "I know you're a Princess, and he needs to marry a Princess. You lookin' for someone?"

"Oh dear," the Calormen girl said. "I do believe that I have given the wrong idea again." And she went off into giggles.

"It aint funny!" Doris said. "He's gonna try and court you and I don't want him to get hurt."

"Now don't keep on fussing," Lasaraleen said. "I would never _dream _of marrying your friend." She tittered. "After all, I _have _been courted by Corin Thunder-fist and Eustace Dragonsman. _And _I have been married to Ahmed Tarkaan. Why _ever _would I want to marry Charming? He is charming, of course, but _I _would rather marry someone with status."

"But," Doris spluttered, feeling very foolish, "I thought that you and he--"

"No no no," the Tarkheena said, waving her hand. "We have only been _talking_. I would speak with him, but I would never marry him. That's one of the funniest things I've ever heard! To think, me marrying a foreigner who doesn't even have lands of his own! It wouldn't be Nice."

Then she peered at Doris closely. "But for you to marry him--that would be very nice indeed. I can't see that you are so pretty--not like Queen Susan was--" she sighed wistfully. "But I can see that you are very much in love with him. And he has mentioned you fondly, when he mentions you at all. It isn't much, of course, but it's enough."

"Enough for what?" Doris asked, not daring to hope.

"That he has some _feeling_ for you, darling."

"I don't think--"

"Oh, don't be a Rabadash," Lasaraleen said. "I know you don't believe me, but he does indeed like you, even if he may deny it himself."

And she giggled again and then turned back to the book she'd been perusing, a clear indication that she didn't want to talk anymore, which was perfectly fine with Doris.

She turned and left the library, but not before giving the Tarkheena a last once-over.

Perhaps Lasaraleen wasn't _quite_ as silly as Lucy had said.

§

Caspian broodingly regarded the bright, golden sea from the balcony of his bedroom. Though the local mermaids danced in the water below with a few seals, he couldn't smile at the sight. According to his sailors, that Charming fellow was apparently trying to turn a new leaf but had already injured Doris' feelings again.

Stupid fellow, he was.

Oh, if Charming was not married to Ramandu's daughter Doris would like like a princess. She might not have been so very pretty, but she had a good heart and would have made a good wife. If only--no. Caspian shook his head. Down that way lay adultery and sin.

He was very happy with his wife.

But what of Doris?

§

"Now what?" Charming looked up as someone knocked on the door.

"Ah, Lord Charming, there is someone at the front of the palace who wishes to see you." The Faun fairly danced in the doorway--a sure sign that he was anxious. Charming stood up abruptly. Was Doris hurt? Had something happened to her? Had someone spoken badly to her? His fists balled as he stalked towards the Faun. He would slice them into ribbons.

The Faun click-clicked his way down the stone hallways and down stairs into the front Hall of the castle.

Yelling and pink sparks from behind the crowded front door caught Charming's attention and he raised an eyebrow. Had that weird new Fairy Godmother from Far Far Away come to visit?

From the sounds of things she wasn't taking very well to the Narnia guards. He pushed through the people, all the while looking up for butterfly wings and wild orange hair.

Instead of red, orange and black he was greeted by a flying whirlwind of grey and pink that was sending sparks shooting everywhere and deflected arrows that were being shot by good Narnian archers and centaurs. It was only when it paused to grab, swing around and around and fling off an Eagle that had winged its way over that he recognized.

Furious brown eyes and spectacles and tiny fluttering dragonfly wings.

_Mummy?_

Then she spotted him.

"Charming, we're going home. Now."


	9. Set Me Free

I got nothin'. Thanks goes out to Amber Stag and Mandy of the Amoeba.

No spirit could win me  
No hope left within me  
Hope I could have loved her  
and that she'd set me free  
But it's not to be  
If I can't love her  
Let the world be done with me.  
_If I Can't Love Her (Beauty and the Beast: The Broadway Musical)_

**Chapter Nine: Set Me Free **

Charming hesitated. For once in his life, given an order by his mother, he hesitated.

Never mind the fact that she was supposed to be dead.

Never mind the fact that she was here in Narnia, attacking the guards.

Never mind the fact that he liked it here.

He did.

He liked everything _about _this place. The land itself was amazing. The creatures here begged for more exploration, and the ways of life here, he finally realized, were _exactly _what he loved. Chivalry, honor, protecting people. Just what the knight's code of honor _was_, in it's heart of hearts. Just like what he'd forgotten, he thought, flushing with shame and not a little guilt. The people were amazingly polite, and the company was fantastic. The company. Lucy, Eustace, Laslareen, even Doris.

His throat closed. _Especially _Doris.

He turned around and found her behind the lines of Narnian guards, huddled together with Lucy and Jill and the other Narnian rulers, whispering furiously. She looked up and met his eyes, and then looked back at the others. She didn't look back, but the flash of longing he'd seen in her eyes was clear.

Charming looked back up at his mother, who was glaring furiously, at him, waiting for him to extend a hand.

"No," he said simply.

"Good, let's--" She'd been turning around, and now her head snapped back towards him. "_What_?"

"I said no," he said. He was proud of the fact that his voice quavered only a little.

"That's what I thought," she growled, and flew towards him, wings buzzing furiously. Her outline began to blaze with pink sparkles, making her so very, very bright...

A shadow interspersed itself between Charming and his mother just as he struggled to clear his sword from the sheath, and he squinted, trying to figure out just whose shadow it was silhouetted against the pink glow of his mother's magic.

"Goodness," he heard Lucy gasp.

"Back off, fairy," a deep voice growled.

His sword slid out of its sheath with a rasp, and he held it straight and proud, stepping out from behind the wall of woman.

He took his sword in a two handed grasp and gazed up at his mother, not three feet away, glaring at both him and the stepsister.

"Mummy, you've been grooming me for a high post all my life, and you've been controlling every move I've ever made. You wanted me to marry a princess. The princesses are happy with who they're with, and I'm happy with what I've got. I don't _need _a kingdom, and I don't _need _a princess, and I don't _need _royalty. I've got friends who are royalty, and I've got friends who aren't royalty. But I'm happy with them. I'm happy _here_. I'm not going home."

His mother looked at him, and her eyes softened.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

Charming nodded.

"Well then," she said, looking both miffed and tired.

Mummy put her wand away and zipped over to Edmund. She now wore a grin at least as big as that of the legendary Alice Cat. "So I hear your kingdom needs a fairy godmother?"

§

"So why'd you do it?" Doris asked as they trudged along one of the paths winding among the rocks below Cair Paravel.

Charming shrugged. "I had an epiphany. I don't need to go back to Far Far Away or Tyme Ago or any of the other lands. I'm happy here."

"Oh," Doris said.

"Oh? I just stood up to my _mother_, and all you can say is 'Oh'?"

Doris shrugged. "I stood up to my mother years ago when she told me to lock Cinderella in the basement with that traveling Bard. It's not that hard." She paused. "But I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," he said.

They rounded a corner, and Caspian stepped out from behind a large rock. Before Charming could jump away, Caspian grabbed his shoulder with one hand and clapped him hard on the back with the other.

"Good show, Charming," he chuckled. "Now I see what Doris sees in you."

He turned to Doris. "My Lady, would you mind giving me a few moments of privacy with Charming?"

"Sure," Doris said, stepping away. She vanished back up the way they had come, and Caspian led Charming down the path towards the gently pounding surf.

"Well," he began over his shoulder as Charming followed him down the sloped path.

"She seems set to stay here," Caspian said.

"Uh-huh," Charming agreed.

"So do you, apparently."

Charming shrugged.

"I've been sent to tell you that you have our permission to stay here in Narnia and keep lodging in Cair Paravel as long as you like."

"R-really?" Charming asked, surprised.

"Yes. However..."

Charming didn't like the sound of that _however_.

"Your mother, on the other hand..."

"Spit it out," Charming said.

"May not. Narnia does not allow magic to be worked here save the work and miracles of Aslan. Your mother will either have to give up her magic or return to your homeland."

"Oh my god," Charming said.

"What is it?" Caspian asked curiously.

"I think I love you," the knight said.

Caspian lurched away, looking alarmed. "_What_?"

"It's an _expression_," Charming said quickly. He wouldn't have thought Caspian to be quite a homophobe.

"Oh," Caspian said, still looking uneasy.

"I was just relieved that my mother wasn't going to be allowed to remain here."

"She won't give up her magic?" Caspian asked, sounding intrigued.

"Are you kidding?" Charming asked, surprised. "Magic is her life."

"I see," Caspian said.

"So that's what you needed to tell me."

"And you sent Doris away why?"

Caspian shrugged. "Plot device."

"Sounds good to me."

Charming looked up. Doris was almost to the castle now, high on the winding path above them.

In a split second, he made a decision that would undoubtedly change both of their lives.

"Caspian?" he asked quietly, looking out at the sun setting far across the ocean, turning the waves the deep red of heart's blood.

"Hmm?"

"About Doris..."

"Hmm?"

"Since she doesn't really have any family," Charming began hesitantly, "Would you mind if I..."

"Yes?" Caspian asked, turning around and propping himself up on the rock.

"King Caspian the Tenth of Narnia, would you give me your permission to court the Lady Doris Renoir?"

Caspian smiled.

§

"You'll be all right here?" Mummy asked, and Charming nodded.

His mother looked gloomy, and then brightened. "I'll come and visit every few months, alright?"

"Okay," Charming said, and helped her into the carriage.

"Do you still want me to send you snackie-wackies every week?" she asked, looking at him, lower lip trembling.

"No, Mummy. I'll be fine."

She closed the door, eyes sparkling.

Charming leaned in through the window. "Some snacks every month or two might be nice," he admitted into her ear.

She smiled. "That's my boy."

"I love you Mummy," he said.

"I love you too, Prince," she said, using his childhood nickname.

She tapped on the front of the carriage, signaling the driver, and when Charming pulled his head out, the carriage shot off in a flurry of magic sparkles. He watched it vanish into the clouds over the brightly lit sea, still trailing pink sparks from its wheels.

§

A few hours later, Doris found him still standing in the middle of the courtyard where his mother's carriage had been, eyes still searching the now-late evening sky.

The moon, lying huge and low on the western horizon, probably killed any chances he had of spotting anything in the sky, let alone a carriage that was probably back in Far Far Away by now, but he still looked as though he sought out a distant speck.

Her heels tapped over the cobblestones, but he still didn't look at her. When she put a hand on his shoulder he finally tore his gaze away from the sky, only to look out at the sea.

"You okay?" she asked, and he finally looked down at her and nodded.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he said.

There was a somewhat awkward silence.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, seemingly nervous

"Uh, sure," she said cautiously. He was probably going to mention Lasaraleen or something now, she thought.

"Do you hate me?" he asked, blowing _that _train of thought out of the water.

"N-no," she said. "Why would you ask something like that?"

Charming looked around like he was looking for someone. Doris followed his gaze, but when she saw no one, she suddenly realized how close Charming was.

"Anything else you'd like to know?" she said, trying to sound like she wanted to go back inside.

There was a gentle touch on her hand and she almost jumped. Charming's slightly damp fingers were entwining with her own, and she didn't know what to think.

"C-Charming?" she asked nervously, wondering what kind of game he was playing.

"Do you still think you love me?" he asked, and she could see that he was at least as nervous as she was.

She wanted to say no, but the fluttering in her stomach and the dying sick feeling she'd felt when she'd thought about Lasaraleen said otherwise.

"Yeah," she said honestly.

"Good," he said.

Then he kissed her under the moonlight.


End file.
